


To Be Alone With You

by t0bemadeofglass



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Masks, Mild Kink, Post The Dark World, Smut, porn with minor plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0bemadeofglass/pseuds/t0bemadeofglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha didn't think the convergence portal would still be open, yet she arrived on Asgard all the same in the midst of a festival.  Set Post TDW</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Alone With You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So I've decided to try a different style, esque, of writing for this fic, and I hope you like it. It's certainly more descriptive and less dialogue based [which is weird] but hey! Never know till you try.

She’d been sent to look into the few remaining portals left behind by the convergence, not having thought it would do much good though she could understand why Fury wanted to double check which ones, if any, were still active.  It was better than a civilian accidentally walking through, for certain, and she was in the area either way, finishing up a quick two-day mission in Ireland, so popping over to England wasn’t a big issue.  As it was the last portal spotted had been just a few hours away, and Nat walked as casually towards it as she could.  It was on the edge of town, thankfully, and there hadn’t been any reportings of it bringing people to or from a place.  At least not people that had come back.  She tried not to think about it as she looked down at the scanner that Jane had designed for all of SHIELD to help them better detect abnormalities.  To the woman’s credit she was amazing at coming up with algorithms that made Nat’s head spin, and even Tony and Bruce had to get her to slow down when she got on a roll.  Impressive to say the least.  She was thankful for the technology when it alerted her that the portal had, in fact, gone cold, and she’d just turned around to call it in to Fury and alert him about the dud when her whole body froze.  Soft, fragile refrains of music filtered through otherwise mostly silent evening, playing despite there not being any logical source--she was on the outskirts of a city, in a part of it that had been confirmed to be abandoned for fear of the unadvised being brought to Asgard by accident.  

“What the hell?” She muttered, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as she took half a step closer, tapping the hand-held device against the butt of her palm as she’d seen Jane do whenever she’d thought the tech had malfunctioned.  Nothing changed, the beeping consistent and reader not showing that anything was out of order, so what the hell was going--.

She didn’t have time to finish the thought before she felt the world leave her feet, the music growing louder and mixing with the sound of wind as she was pulled quickly through space.  With her sight blinded by the briefest flash of rainbow light she couldn’t be certain of where she was until she caught sight of the enormous golden palace to her immediate left, the same strains of music from before louder, closer, and now mingled with the sound of revelry.  Her senses flooded with the scent of fresh food--baked bread and roasted meats and wine--and despite it looking well into the night the others around her seemed as awake as though it were the middle of the day.

What the hell was going on?

At the end of the alleyway that she’d been somehow deposited into she caught sight of a flurry of citizens passing by, dressed in long gowns with detailed, rich embroidery, each with masks over their faces, laughing and cajoling with one another as they walked without any real hurry, pockets heavy with what she could only assume was money.  The music provided the perfect cloak for her footsteps as she hurried from the back of the alley into the torch-lit side streets of what had to have been Asgard, Jane’s tech dropped on the street and forgotten, merchants having set up extravagant shops on either side of the roads leading up to it.  It was no difficult task to take what she needed, and though she felt a pang of regret for adding to her own debt, for stealing, it was paramount to blending in, and that meant survival.  With the stolen money she made quick work of haggling a dress and matching mask from one of the vendors, the man’s accent thick and his beard even more so that it was a wonder he could talk at all through it.  He thanked her, either way, when he accepted the money, pointing to the back of the store he’d set up his wares in front of to motion where she could change.  The fabric was exquisite, softer than any silk or satin she’d ever draped herself in in the past, and though he told her he was from a distant planet--not one of the nine realms she’d heard Thor speak about, she was sure--she wished she’d found a name to file away for later use.  She wouldn’t mind having sheets made out of it, though it would make getting out of bed that more difficult, and the deep blue would look striking against her skin when paired with the same colored mask, though it carried detailing around the edges that made it look as though it was straight off of a spider’s web.  Fitting, she thought.  She kept what few pieces of identifying information she had on her and left the rest of her street clothes in the changing room, blending in with the others the moment she stepped onto the street, the coin purse tied around her waist so that she would feel whether or not someone jostled it, no matter how light their fingers.  She knew all the tricks, and more importantly how to combat them.  

Vendors shouted, trying to attract her attention as she passed.  Goblets of wine were pressed into her hands without having requested them, their owners grinning and assuring her theirs was the best, the oldest and most matured, made from the finest grapes and fruits imaginable.  It was true, she had to admit as she licked her lips of the last one, that the wines she was used to paled in comparison, and it was no wonder that Thor was less than thrilled with their selection, preferring to bring his own from Asgard whenever Tony called for a get together that involved liquor.  Hard to drink swill when you were used to ambrosia, she supposed.  Food was further shoved into her hands, sweets and fruits, and though she was hesitant to try them, unsure what effect they might have in tandem with the wine already consumed, it was hard to avoid when the eyes of the merchants were upon her, eager for her reaction.  More often than not she was able to get away with pretending, thanks to a nearby street performer or a false friend she pretended to see, walking away with her mouth supposedly full, but on the few occasions she’d consumed what was offered it, of course, made everything else pale in comparison.  

Maybe she’d convince Thor to let her have a summer home here, provided she could work everything out between the two planets.  

The wine must’ve been affecting her more than she thought, her mouth dry despite having taken another sip, the flames of the torches seeming to burn a little brighter, the outside getting just a little warmer.  As she followed the throngs of citizens into the opened palace gates, as commonplace as the rest, she couldn’t help but blink rapidly at the bright golden surroundings, the effect that of what it might be like to have been living with King Midas.  The enormous dance floor was filled with masked couples twirling around, the outskirts with women waiting to be asked and the men too terrified to ask, or else other small groups standing around to drink and chat.  She made her way around the edge of the dance floor, resting just beside the small five-person orchestra that provided the music for the evening.  There was a strange feel about the place, she had to admit.  Even as she knew that things were different here than they would be on Midgard, there was a certain pulse about the place, as though it were alive and very much interacting with each of them.  It slid over her skin even as she stood there, unmoving save the foot that tapped slowly to the beat, her sneakers easily hidden by the long gown, and goosebumps raised on her arms and the back of her neck as she felt, rather than saw, someone breeze by her.  

Neither of them said a word.  They didn’t have to, Natasha supposed, and even though her head was spinning she wasn’t an idiot.  The power, charisma, the sense of dancing on the edge of a knife without knowing whether or not one might survive or fall, all of it overcame her as if he were the living embodiment of chaos and disorder himself, which she supposed he was, yet it was elevated for whatever the reason.  Without a word he pressed a hand onto hers, removing the wine goblet from her fingertips and making it disappear before he threaded their fingers and tugged her towards the dancers.  The previous song was just finishing as he spun her lightly around, the swirling gold playing tricks on her eyes so she swore she saw horns above his head when her eyes finally focused on him once more, his body pressed very close to hers, yet he exuded little to no heat.  A blessing, she supposed.  She felt as though she was on fire, every inch of skin that was covered sweltered in the heat, while that which was bare still felt uncomfortably smothered.  The wine, she thought, was to blame for many things that evening.  

The song was slow, and as ever no words were spoken between them.  They were unnecessary, she thought, as his green eyes stared out from beneath a black mask with golden lacing, his fine green and black leather telling her easily enough whose hand she’d allowed to take hers, who led her through the Asgardian version of a waltz, though this was far more intimate.  Her cheeks felt flushed, her breathing rapid and uneven, as they twirled and separated before coming back together, his fingers searing into her flesh when he held her hip hard to him, his lips painting a tattoo of heat down her throat when he pressed his mouth to her soft skin.  Her sigh would hardly have been audible if he hadn’t been positioned so close to her ear.  

It seemed to be all the indication he needed.  The instant the song had finished they were stepping off of the dance floor, the crowds parting without issue for him, Nat trailing behind mutely.  

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she muttered as soon as they were free of those nearby.  “Thor--.”

“Would be forced to take his place as the rightful king if he kept asking questions.  He’s no imbecile.”  There was the slightest hint of fondness in the butter-soft voice, Nat not proud of the way it made her knees weaken and sent a bolt of heat and passion between her legs.  

“You sure know how to throw a hell of a party,” she murmured.  

“It is an annual festival,” he said as though commenting on the weather.  “You’ve already noticed a few of the differences.”  

If by the way that he was practically shooting off waves of raw power, ambition, and deviousness then yes, yes she had.  She just smiled and let her mask fall down off of her face, not seeing much point in hiding it all.  He wouldn’t have brought her here, to his room she could only assume, if he didn’t know who she was.  She was entertaining, she knew, and she could work with that.  He seemed to have the same idea as her, his mask falling as he pushed through the first door, the room before them as big as her flat back in Queens, one of her many safe houses.  He hardly waited to push her against the wall in the receiving room, their masks dropped and forgotten as her hands surged to grasp at his hair, scratch at the soft skin of his neck, his holding her firmly by the hips and pressing her hard against him so she could feel him right where she needed him.  A low keen stuck in her throat, swallowed up when his lips crashed against hers, and the same wave of power, of insanity that had been bottled tight between the two of them seemed to release in a burst of pure sensation and desire.  Every inch of her that his fingers touched errupted into iced chills, her skin burning then cooling immediately after so her senses went into overdrive, his lips dragging down her throat so he could bite at the soft skin there.  Somehow her dress had managed to remove itself, leaving her bared beneath his gaze, and he pulled away just seconds after to take a look at her, pupils blown so wide they nearly lost all color.  His hair was a mess, courtesy of how she’d tugged and messed it up, and judging by the high color in his cheeks she wasn’t the only one who was so affected.  He smirked, catching her gaze, and without explanation a dizzying wave of pleasure hit her, making her knees go weak as her back arched, nipples hardening in the cold air as the heat between her legs only intensified further.  

“Ass,” she gasped.  

There was hardly a second to breathe before he head her turned around, her cheek pressed against the cool wall, his fingers between her legs, thumb on her clit, while the other was slowly, tantalizingly, pressing himself in inch by inch.  Once more she gave a low wail, this one mired in frustration and heady need as her body betrayed her and pressed back against him, eager to take more as the thick head pushed into her already wet core.  He wasn’t giving her an inch more than he wanted, however, though he had plenty to spare she was pleased to find out.  When she tried to push back again, tried to reach behind to scramble and take matters, literally, into her own hands, he had them bound behind her back and attached to a thin collar wrapped around her neck.  He tugged at it, grinning when she whimpered.  

“Is it because you have control over every other aspect of your life that you enjoy giving it up in the bedroom?” He purred into her ear as he finally bottomed out, eliciting a shout from her as he punctuated it with a quick thrust that jostled her g-spot.  

“N-no.”  She managed to gasp, tipping her head forward even as he pulled at the collar and chain.  With his attention diverted, she stuck one of her legs out and kicked at his.  He went down without an issue, pulling her with him and with the help of magic they ended, unhurt, with Loki on bottom and Natasha on top.  She swiveled her hips, her back to Loki, smirking as she watched his adam’s apple bob with surprised glee.  She raised herself up, onto her haunches, before slamming herself back down and making him shout in surprise, her own lost as he filled her perfectly.  

“It wouldn’t be half as much fun if I couldn’t surprise you, at least once.”  She countered, setting a slow rhythm that had him clinging to her hips and forcing her to move faster in little time.  He tugged at the bindings he’d conjured, which softened to silk ties at the briefest of words from him, and he whispered sweet encouragements as she took him over and over again, their positions switching at the slightest provocation or when he grew bored, whichever came first, until he ended up behind her, the pair on their side, one of her legs hiked up so it nearly stretched behind her head as he thrust shallowly into her, rhythm quick but erratic.  She’d already come several times, the man inside her relentless when it came to giving her pleasure, making her body boneless and her head tipped back so she could kiss him languidly, whimpering into his mouth as he explored it thoroughly with his tongue.  

The crest of her final orgasm snuck up on her, so that with a choked “Ng--Loki--.” Her body went tense and she shouted into his throat, having pulled away to allow herself to breathe.  As she tightened around him he followed suit, filling her entirely and gripping her so hard she was going to have a delicious set of bruises the next morning.  

 

They ended up adding more throughout the night, Natasha never going unsatisfied and always ensuring Loki was as entertained and enjoyed it as much as she did, pulling most of her best tricks out for his, and her, benefit.  

 

The next morning dawned bright and unforgiving, waking Nat to the memories of the past seven or so hours in which she’d spent getting to know every inch of the current ruler of Asgard.  The same one who was still snuggled up behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist.  With the skill of having done it a thousand or so times on various men of a multitude of size and strength, she slid out from underneath his arm and dressed quickly, leaving nothing but a kiss on his cheek as her way of saying goodbye.  

The Bifrost wouldn’t take her, even as she looked to Heimdall for confirmation of what was wrong.  His golden, all-seeing gaze darkened as though he was looking back on the past, and sighed.  

“You consumed the food and drink of the Aesir during the festival.  I’m afraid you cannot leave, not for some time until it has worked its way through your body.”

Her blood ran cold  “How long?”

“Perhaps a year.  Perhaps longer.”  

In hindsight Natasha supposed she ought to have paid better attention to the stories she’d grown up with as a child, particularly when a god of mischief and deceit was involved.  

 

 


End file.
